Yet, he held back, knowing such a question was foolish and unfair.

His gaze was profound, reflective.

After some time, he stepped out, carrying an empty plate.

The night wasn't deep yet. Inside, Cecilia and the kids were present, but Mark found solitude on the balcony, the night wind his silent companion.

An urge to smoke rose within him, but his health wouldn't permit it.

Never had he felt more acutely the changes time brought; he had lost much, while Cecilia seemed to continually gain.

The other night, Cecilia had finally called him "Uncle Mark" once again, but they were no longer who they used to be.

He let the cool breeze alleviate his troubled thoughts.

The sound of the glass door sliding open then gently closing snapped him out of his reverie.

Cecilia stood there.

Fresh from a shower, clad in a black silk robe, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, she appeared Like a night-blooming rose.

She embraced him from behind.

“What's on your mind?" she whispered.

Mark turned and looked down, his hands tenderly caressing her hair, but he remained silent.

Cecilia seemed to sense his thoughts. In a soft tone, she said, "Mark, it's been eight years since we've known each other. Times change, and so do we. I'm no longer that little girl. If I were, I wouldn't be here with you. Gains always come at a cost, right?"

Mark's face softened into a smile.

"Are you trying to console or persuade me?"

Cecilia playfully nibbled at his Adam's apple.

"Maybe a bit of both."

"You can do better than this, then.”